Short answer: Yes, and most likely the bastards laughed the entire time.
my daughters' many stuffed animals is a small purple and white duck,
which 'quacks' charmingly when you shake it. Like most toys these days,
it hails from Asia. Well, recently it stopped quacking, and small,
sorrowful kideyes were begging me to make it quack again. Because,
well, I'm Mom, and I can fix anything.
Not wanting to nuke
my reputation right out of the water, I agreed to perform stuffed duck
surgery and see if I couldn't fix the quacker. I attacked a seam across
it's back with a seam ripper and managed to work the noisemaker out of
The noisemaker looked for all the world like a black
35mm film can. I popped the top off and found quacker innards within. I
dumped it out and found the problem immediately: The rubber casing of
the thing was disintegrating. Inside the rubber case was a spring and a
mysterious contraption made of a moving weight and a bit of colorful
metal. The colorful metal looked to be aluminum recycled from an Asian
soda can, amusingly enough.
I explore the thing I determine that the noisemaker proper is working
flawlessly, the sole problem is the rotting rubber sleeve. As I more
closely inspect the sleeve to see if a replacement for it might be
cobbled together somehow, I realize something.
The rubber sleeve is, indeed, A RUBBER.
They had the balls to name this line of toys "Playful Plush", too. More factory-wide sniggering over that one, I'm sure.
As soon as it dawns on me what the creepy, slimey, rotting thing I'm holding in my hands is,
I drop it like a hot rock, accompanied by a string of choice
four-letter words, uttered in a loud, disbelieving tone of voice. So
loud that my husband emerges from the kitchen to see what prompted THAT
I point in revulsion to the toy's parts.
"Look at that!" I watch his face closely for his reaction. Sadly for
him, he doesn't realize what it is at first, either, and picks it up.
After a moment, HE now knows what it is, too, and practically launches
the thing into orbit in his haste to get it out of his hands. "Jesus!"
He shoots me an incredulous, disgusted look.
"I know!" I say, before he can say anything else. "And this damned Toy From Hell won't work unless I replace it!"
Who WOULDN'T want to touch this?
merely returns to the kitchen, laughing because it isn't HIM that has
to fit a new condom in a toy duck. He does, however, volunteer to go to
the store and get the needed condoms.
Now I know why this damned toy has such a look of Pure Evil on it's face, along with a creepy grin.
I draw a deep breath, Mom Up and do the deed. Old condom removed, new
one (lubricated, just like the old one) placed and *of course* it needs adjusting
before the quacker works again. Husband makes requisite snarky remarks
as to how the things never fit, now I know how guys feel, etc.
New, uh...'apparatus' in place
So for now Evil Condom Duck quacks again. Until THIS condom wears out...